


Unlaced

by GrayceAdamsArchive



Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Fingering, Human AU, M/M, Miscommunication, One Shot, PWP, Panty Kink, Plot What Plot, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and then very very thoroughly resolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6809284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayceAdamsArchive/pseuds/GrayceAdamsArchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The material is soft and silky, a stark contrast to the rest of the drawer, which is what gets Peter’s attention in the first place. He blinks in confusion as he tugs it out of where it’s tucked in the bottom right-hand corner of the drawer, and is confronted by a pair of silk panties edged in dark lace. A few more pairs in what he assumes are different colors, going by the varying shades, are tucked in the same place he’d pulled the first one from. He stares at the underwear in his hands for a long minute, trying to fathom why the hell Miggs, gay as the day is long <i>Miggs,</i> would have <i>panties</i> in his sock drawer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unlaced

**Author's Note:**

> Since HYP isn't updating today (though chapter nine IS up on [patreon](http://patreon.com/grayceanddoc) and has been since Friday :Oc and the next chapter will be up there this week, too, so patreon is gonna be two chapters ahead of AO3 by the time HYP updates here next week) I thought I'd put up this one-shot so there's not like, nothing for this week ;u; 
> 
> This is just a little pwp panty-kink thing I wrote based off [this post](http://pandashrine.tumblr.com/post/143519174976/jeremiahthecreepyqueerreaper-imagine-ur-otp-a) that is also probably getting a sequel because I have no self control :') But this stands just fine on its own, so I thought I'd post it today. <3

The material is soft and silky, a stark contrast to the rest of the drawer, which is what gets Peter’s attention in the first place. He blinks in confusion as he tugs it out of where it’s tucked in the bottom right-hand corner of the drawer, and is confronted by a pair of silk panties edged in dark lace. A few more pairs in what he assumes are different colors, going by the varying shades, are tucked in the same place he’d pulled the first one from. He stares at the underwear in his hands for a long minute, trying to fathom why the hell Miggs, gay as the day is long _Miggs,_ would have _panties_ in his sock drawer.

After a few long seconds of mental floundering, the bit of his brain that analyzes data for O.W.C.A. kicks in, and he notes that the underwear are cut wrong to fit a woman, the crotch a bit wider and looser, made to accommodate bits most ladies don’t have in their pants.

The thought that _Miggs_ is the one who wears the panties he's holding (and quite regularly, too, going by the relaxed elastic just starting to edge towards worn-out, the still-analyzing part of his brain points out) hits him most similarly to a freight train, and he sways slightly as a thousand thoughts and imaginings flash through his brain, trying to pair _Miggs_ and _panties_ and _wearing_ in the same sentence. It’s a tantalizing image, one that presents itself in a way that has his breath catching in his chest at the thought of Miggs sprawled back against pale sheets, body bare save for a pair of thin panties, little bows lacing up the sides, bright against his dark skin, clinging to his hips and the soft swell of his cock—

Footsteps break his fantasy and fear swamps him at the thought of Miggs _catching_ him holding his underwear, which is very obviously _not_ any of Peter’s business to be touching. Panic has him slamming the drawer shut and opening the next, but he’s still got the panties clutched in his fist and Miggs will _definitely_ notice they’ve been moved if they’re in the wrong drawer. Before he can think too hard about it he’s shoving them into his pocket just to get them out of sight, and then pushing both hands into Miggs’ t-shirt drawer in some insane bid to look like he’d never touched Miggs’ underwear drawer in the first place.

“Hey, I just finished with the last of the living room shelves…Peter, what are you doing?” Miggs sounds a little amused, and Peter looks over his shoulder at him, hoping his face won’t give him away. He’s usually got a great poker face, but the panties in his pocket and Miggs’ drawer (don’t think about it, _don’t_ think about him wearing them—dammit!) had caught him entirely by surprise, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Miggs guesses what he found.

“Peter, we can just pull the drawers out and put them in the van like that, we don’t need to pack my clothes,” Miggs says, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look suspicious or embarrassed, just a little sweaty and entertained by Peter digging through his t-shirt drawer.

Peter pauses and then nods, bumping the heel of his hand against his forehead in a _duh_ gesture and shutting the drawer again, t-shirts only a little rumpled from him pawing through them. Miggs rolls his eyes and jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the living room.

“I’ve packed all the books and stuff from the shelves by the TV—I had no idea I owned _three_ copies of the Hobbit, I don’t even know where I got them all—and cleared out all those papers I kept stuffing on the fourth shelf, so the living room’s pretty much done,” he says, and Peter nods, glancing around what’s left in Miggs’ old bedroom. Everything from the closet has already been packed and moved down to the truck, since it had mostly been in boxes already, and his bed had been stripped down and moved to the new place earlier.

“Thanks for helping me move, by the way,” Miggs says after a second, picking at the edge of his shirt with his fingers, betraying his nerves. “Usually I have to hire someone to help, but this is…much nicer.” He gives Peter a shy smile, and Peter grins and shoots him a thumbs up, grabbing the packing tape from where he’d set it on top of Miggs’ dresser (which held more lingerie in the top drawer than Peter had in his pocket, tucked innocently among socks and briefs and undershirts, soft and silky and there had been _lace—_ ), following Miggs out into the main area of his old apartment to help him move the boxes of books down to the truck.

Miggs’ old apartment was relatively small, just a slight step above a studio, but he’d managed to accumulate quite a bit of clutter in his time there. Miggs sorted through most of it himself, while Peter helped him shift furniture and put things in boxes that were definitely going with them. He’d been running mostly on autopilot when he’d opened the top drawer to Miggs’ dresser, humming along to the stereo Miggs had had playing in the kitchen.

Now that he knows the panties are there though, he can’t stop thinking about them.

Miggs carries the top drawer down to the truck when they move his dresser, and Peter’s glad, because he’s not sure he could resist looking for more things he shouldn’t be if given the chance.

Moving all the boxes into Miggs’ new place goes much faster than filling the truck did, and before long Miggs has all his things in his new place, it’s dark outside, and they’re both laying on the floor in his new living room surrounded by stacks of boxes and bags and the general mess of moving.

“I never want to pick anything up again,” Miggs groans after a minute. “My back is killing me.” Peter grunts in agreement, gesturing at the cane leaning by Miggs’ new breakfast bar. He’d started using it towards the end of the day, and Miggs moans bitterly at Peter’s suggestion.

“Fuck you,” he says, but when he gets up for water and to order pizza, he leans on the cane as he hobbles around.

“Uh, the address is…fuck, sorry, I just moved, uh…” Peter watches Miggs limp around his new apartment, looking for the lease papers that are laying on top of his dresser, which is sitting in the living room looking far too innocent for the secret it holds. Peter glances at Miggs as he leans over a box, swearing as he searches for the lease. His t-shirt rides up, exposing the thick waistband of a pair of briefs peeking over the edge of his jeans. Peter wonders if he only wears the panties when he’s getting laid, or if it’s more of a certain-day-of-the-week thing. Maybe he wears them like any other underwear, snagging the first pair he touches and going with those for the day.

Peter really needs to stop thinking about Miggs wearing the panties before he embarrasses himself while lying on his best friend’s new carpet. And he _really_ needs to find a way to sneak the panties in his pocket back into the drawer where they belong before Miggs notices they’re gone.

Miggs eventually finds the lease when he turns to look at Peter helplessly and Peter points at the dresser.

“Ah!” he cries triumphantly, snatching it up and relaying the address to the probably very irritated pizza guy from the way Miggs starts scowling. Peter watches his friend pace as he places their order for a minute before dropping his head back to lay flat and do his best to put Miggs and his panties out of his mind. It’s hard, especially when he sticks his thumb into the pocket with Miggs’ panties, touching the edge of the silky material, but he’s going to do his very best.

* * *

 

His very best is not enough.

It’s a little after midnight, and he’s laying in bed. His muscles ache from helping Miggs move over the last few days, and all he can think about are the damn panties he’d ended up bringing home with him, unable to find a moment safe enough to sneak them back into Miggs’ dresser. He hadn’t known Miggs really _had_ any kinks, let alone something like that. He’d known the man was gay, of course. But other than that, he hasn’t thought about it much. He wants to _keep_ Miggs as his friend, he doesn’t want to lose it over something as silly as sex, not when Peter can find that elsewhere and keep his friendship with Miggs intact. The ‘friends with benefits’ thing has rarely worked out for him before, and the last thing he wants is for Miggs to get hurt, especially when Peter can prevent it by just not thinking with his fucking dick.

Speaking of his dick, he’s doing his best to will it into softening, because jerking off with Miggs’ panties is not going to help him forget the man owns them in the first place. But his erection is persistent, and he blows out a frustrated breath, glancing at the crumpled ball of silk and lace in his hand. They’re not overly fancy, just silk with the sides held together by criss-crossing ribbons of the same lace around the edges. There’s a bit of elastic in the waist, probably to help hold them on better since the lace bows don’t come undone and look mostly decorative. They’re a simple sort of sexy, not too simple that they’d be plain on Miggs, but not so complicated there would be any gymnastics involved in getting them off, which is largely Peter’s experience with lingerie. He’d never know how women got their bra hooks undone behind their backs on their own.

Blowing out a breath,  he slides his other hand down between the sheets to wrap his hand around his cock as he fists his hand around the underwear and shoves it under his pillow, determined not to think about them as he gets off. He pictures soft curves, full breasts, mouth parted to let out soft cries of pleasure. He imagines running his hands down a pair of slim hips, fingers catching in a pair of silky panties edged in lace.

Peter groans as the fantasy quickly morphs to _Miggs,_ dark skin dotted with freckles and laid out in a tempting sprawl under him, flushed and squirming, with a pair of soft, lacy underwear cupping his hard cock, trapping it against his hip.

Peter’s cock throbs in his hand and he moans, reaching up with his free hand to cover his eyes, forgetting about the panties for a second until they’re pressed over his face. He whimpers, the material soft and thin and smelling like _Miggs,_ like laundry soap and a little like the cologne he wears sometimes. Groaning, he pulls the underwear away from his face and fists that hand down by his side, trying to think of a fantasy that’s not going to get him in trouble. Pale skin, dark hair, body thicker and stronger than Miggs’. Definitely not wearing panties. A mouth twisted into a smirk, wicked words, his name, said with just a hint of an accent that rolls on the R in a way that’s unique to one person— _Miggs_ , arching under him and calling out his name, panties tugged down around his thighs so Peter can touch his cock, suck him, watch him writhe and beg.

Peter groans, fingers tightening around the tip of his cock as he imagines tangling his fingers in the soft lace and silk, drawing it tight against Miggs’ thighs. He tries to stomp on his guilt as he pushes his other hand under the blanket to wrap the silk around his cock, fucking up into it. He imagines rutting against Miggs, leaning down to kiss him as the man cries out, cock sliding against him through silk and lace, Miggs’ hands grasping at the sheets, curls splayed wildly around wide, soft eyes.

Peter gasps as he comes, hips twitching up into his hand as he spills onto the silk panties. His breath is fast and his heart pounds as he stares up at his ceiling, knowing that he is, certifiably, in deep shit.

* * *

 

He wonders, vaguely, what god he pissed off to deserve this, watching Miggs squat down to dig through his backpack by his desk, t-shirt (probably a size or two too small) riding up and jeans sliding down just enough to show Peter that he’s wearing something that’s sheer and lacy and definitely not boxers or briefs or anything in between underneath them.

“I can’t believe I’ve lost my fucking keys, I swear I put them in here,” Miggs grumbles as he digs through his backpack, unzipping and emptying every pocket on his bag as he searches for his keyring. It’s one of the rare days where Peter drove them to work, since it was a nice enough day and Miggs’ car has been having some issues with the transmission. But when Miggs had gone to lock up his classroom, no keys.

Peter stares a little unabashedly at the panties peeking up over Miggs’ jeans, wondering if the whole thing is sheer lace, or just the back. If there’s more lace on the front, or the edges.

He’s hard before he’s thought much about it at all, and he awkwardly leans against the doorframe and crosses his legs at the ankle, tucking his hands into his pockets in an effort to hide it.

He’s made abruptly aware of the fact that _he_ has Miggs’ keys in his pocket. It takes him a moment to remember how they got there, recalling Miggs tossing them at him to unlock his classroom for him that morning so Miggs could run to the bathroom before class started.

The last thing he wants to do is call Miggs’ attention to him right now, though, what with the fairly-obvious bulge in the front of his slacks that shows no sign of going down any time soon. It doesn’t help when Miggs leans forward to check under his desk and his jeans slip down far enough to show Peter that the underwear are cut like a Tanga thong, a little bit of Miggs’ ass showing through the high cut.

Awkwardly shifting so that his back is to Miggs, he clears his throat and then points towards the bathroom when Miggs looks up.

“Oh, yeah, sure, whatever, I’ll keep looking,” he says absently, grabbing his backpack to turn it upside down and shake it out, sending papers and pens everywhere. Peter barely pauses to marvel at the sheer number of paperclips that come out of one of the pockets before hurrying down the hall to the bathroom, endlessly thankful that, at the end of the day, no one else is using the faculty restroom, which has a lock on the door. He makes use of it and then leans back against the door to undo his belt and pull his cock out, biting his lip. He’s already almost painfully aroused, the mere memory of Miggs bent over with his underwear showing, too preoccupied by his lost keys (which are still in Peter’s pocket) to think that he might be flashing Peter, the lace cupping his hips and ass making Peter nearly dizzy with lust.

Peter imagines coming up behind Miggs while he’s bent over, reaching down to trace a finger along his spine down to his exposed panties, the gasp that would cause. Breathier, more surprised and embarrassed than Peter has heard before. The tremble that would run through him as Peter drags his finger down along the seam of the underwear, down the crack of Miggs’ ass until he reaches the edge of his jeans. He pretends that Miggs would lean forward, lifting up his hips so Peter can pull his pants down, exposing his ass completely, showing off that dark, freckled skin wrapped in pale fabric.

Peter moans and bites his lip, wrapping a hand around his cock and starting to slowly stroke. He knows he doesn’t have time to savor this, he really shouldn’t be doing it at all, but _fuck,_ the mental image of Miggs bent over and starting to pant and shake as Peter hooks a finger in the edge of his panties to tug them aside, exposing him, is far too sexy to not linger over.

The nice thing about a fantasy is that Miggs is ready for him the instant he wants him, and he jumps from pulling Miggs’ underwear aside to pushing the head of his cock against his hole. Mimicking the tight heat of him with his fist, slowly sliding from tip to base, he imagines pushing into Miggs, fucking him while he’s wearing those pretty panties.

He cries out in surprise as he’s suddenly coming, some of it hitting the floor before he cups a hand over the head to catch the rest, panting. He hasn’t come so fast in years, and he stays leaning against the door for a second, trembling with the carnal pleasure rolling through him.

Guilt follows fast on its heels, though, and Peter quickly wipes up the come on the floor with a bit of paper, tossing it into the toilet to flush, and then washes his hands, tucking his cock away and wondering how to explain to Miggs where his keys have been.

He comes up with the idea when he walks back into Miggs’ classroom to see him sitting under his desk, clearly sulking, knees pulled up under his chin and the contents of his backpack scattered all around him. He pouts when he looks up at Peter, lower lip pushing out and eyebrows drawing down.

“I _still_ can’t fucking find them,” he says petulantly, and Peter slowly lifts his right hand, Miggs’ keys dangling from his fingers. The man’s eyes go very wide, and Peter quickly tosses them at him before grabbing his notepad and writing an explanation.

**_U gave them 2 me this morning, remember? I left them on MY desk & forgot._ **

“Oh my fucking God,” Miggs says, crawling out from under his desk and thankfully pulling up his pants before starting to stuff his things back into his bag. “I was starting to think one of my students had stolen them,” he grumbles when Peter kneels down to help, startling a laugh out of Peter. It takes a while to get everything back into Miggs’ bag, and then they lock up and Peter very firmly puts Miggs and his panties out of his mind. No more jacking off to his friend and his choice in underwear.

While driving Miggs home, Peter contemplates how healthy it is for one to lie to themselves on a daily basis so blatantly.

* * *

 

Miggs puts his keys on top of his dresser when he gets home, scowling at them. “Little bastards,” he tells them, pulling open his top drawer and starting to dig through his clothes for what to wear tomorrow. He’s gotten into the habit of laying everything out the night before after one-too-many mornings showing up to work looking like some sort of absolute disaster after trying to dress, shower, _and_ be awake before nine AM.

He decides that since it’s Friday tomorrow he might entertain the idea of going out for the first time in months (even though he knows he won’t, unrequited love is one of the _worst_ mood-killers he’s ever come across) and that warrants something nicer than black or gray briefs.

He roots around in the bottom right-hand corner of the drawer, looking for a specific pair. He finds the red, white, and black pairs immediately, but his blue pair is missing. He frowns, wondering if he wore it already this laundry cycle and just forgot. But a dig through his hamper proves that theory false, so he goes back to his drawer and picks through the whole thing, and _still_ doesn’t find them.

“Where the fuck did they go,” he murmurs, frowning and glancing at the drawer. He had moved just a little while ago, but none of his laundry had shifted so much that one piece would be lost in the shuffle when they hadn’t even taken the contents of the drawers out.

And then Miggs remembers Peter digging through his dresser, the day they’d moved it. He’d been in the second drawer when Miggs had come in, but there’d been the distinct sound of him shutting another quickly right before Miggs had walked in…

“Oh my God,” Miggs says out loud, staring blankly at his underwear collection. Had Peter _taken_ them? Could Peter have _seen_ them? It was more than possible, other than being organized into the bottom right-hand corner, he wasn’t really _hiding_ them. If Peter had been in his top drawer, they’d have been in plain sight. Had he pulled them out in curiosity and then _taken_ them? For what? Blackmail? He hasn’t said anything yet if he has them, but then again, there’s no other logical place for them to have gone.

Miggs thinks back over the last few days, of the faint tinge of pink in Peter’s cheeks, the lingering look at his waist. Miggs had just thought that maybe he’d been getting a cold, or that Miggs’ shirt had been tucked funny.

“Oh, shit.” Miggs feels the blood drain from his face as he realizes that Peter _knows,_ and isn’t impressed, the conflict on the man’s face while Miggs had been looking for his keys reminding Miggs forcibly that Peter had probably noticed the edge of his thong over his pants, and been struggling not to tell Miggs he needed to cover that shit up, if not make fun of him.

Miggs steps back from his drawers and sinks down to sit on the edge of his bed, staring at his dresser in shock.

“Fuck.”

* * *

 

He wears a pair of panties the next day anyway, nerves boiling in his gut. He wears low-cut jeans and a t-shirt as well, hoping to test a theory. Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe Peter didn’t mind, or hadn’t noticed. Maybe Miggs had just missed them digging through his laundry. It was possible Peter had been trying to remember where Miggs’ keys were, or he’d simply mixed up Miggs’ laundry just enough to move the underwear and hadn’t even noticed them and Miggs had missed them in the drawer among his other things.

Miggs knows he’s clutching at straws, but he has to try. He doesn’t want to lose his only friend over something as stupid as Miggs’ _underwear._

“Here, let me show you something,” Miggs says. They’re taking their lunch, in Peter’s classroom since it’s pouring rain outside and windy enough to warrant some kind of warning. Miggs leans over Peter to reach his computer, practically laying across his lap when it would have been much easier to just walk around him.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this project with my classes, you know, towards the end of term,” he says, pulling up a YouTube video and glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eye. The man isn’t even looking at the computer, but instead staring at where Miggs’ shirt is slipping up his back, jeans low enough to show the blue, transparent edge of his underwear. Peter’s very red, and his face looks like he’s concentrating very hard on something. Miggs tries not to feel his stomach sink like a stone as Peter’s eyebrows draw together, frowning at Miggs’ underwear like they’ve seriously offended him.

“There, that,” Miggs says, quickly scrambling out of Peter’s lap and flapping a hand at the screen as the video starts playing. Peter leans forward and fixes his gaze on the computer, watching intently as Miggs tugs his pants up as high as he can get them without it being uncomfortable, an old sense of shame burning in his stomach.

He knows there’s nothing inherently wrong with the way he dresses, particularly his underclothes. Many, many people have a lingerie kink, and many people wear it day-to-day as well. But Miggs has always seemed to manage to run afoul of people who _didn’t_ think it was okay, or even just none of their business what he wore under his jeans.

He’d thought Peter was different though, and knowing that he’s not stings in a way that has Miggs blinking back tears as Peter frowns at the hour-long video on an engineering project probably too complicated for any of his students to conceivably achieve.

* * *

 

Miggs is _painfully_ aware of Peter knowing that he wears non-traditional undergarments. While Peter might think he’s a mystery to most of the world, Miggs knows him better than most, and he’s alarmingly transparent when he’s been surprised. And Miggs is bitterly conscious of how his choice of clothing might be surprising.

Peter’s cheeks tinge with pink whenever he looks at Miggs now, a frown appearing sometimes if he catches so much of a hint that Miggs might not be wearing boxers or briefs. If he catches a glimpse of them, either on accident or by design, he makes some excuse and vanishes, usually for the rest of their break, and Miggs doesn’t see him again until the end of the day, when he needs a ride home.

Miggs starts to feel the old hesitance and shame when he pulls on a pair of panties, and one morning he stands in front of his mirror, wondering if he could save their rapidly-crumbling friendship by just not wearing them anymore. It wouldn’t be so hard. Briefs aren’t _really_ that different. There’s just no lace, not as many colors, they’re not as thin or soft.

They’re not the same, and he knows it.

He sighs, looking down at the red boyshort-cut ones he has on, that frame his hips and ass really nicely, or he’s always thought they have. After the first time, he hasn’t really shown them to anyone. One awkward laugh, quick escape, and subsequent break-up had been enough, thank you. He looks back up at himself in the mirror and crosses his arms over his chest, feeling small and hurt. He’s in love with Peter, and has been for a while. But if the man can’t handle him wearing panties even when they’re just friends…better to just end it right now, before it gets worse.

* * *

 

Peter is only vaguely paying attention to the episode of _Space Adventure_ on the TV, his attention more focused on the man next to him. Miggs is curled up on himself, more subdued and distracted than usual. He’s got his flannel-covered knees up under his chin, arms wrapped around his legs as he watches the screen, not at all paying attention to Captain Zoe’s stirring speech during the ship’s Darkest Hour of the week.

After a minute, Peter sighs and turns towards Miggs, giving him an expectant look when the man blinks and looks confused. Another sigh, and Peter grabs his notepad to write the man a message.

**_U R doing that face. What’s up?_ **

Miggs’ cheeks darken, and he chews his lip for a minute before reaching out to pause the episode, making Peter frown. It has to be something big if it’s worth pausing their show over.

“I know,” he says finally, staring down at his knees, cheeks dark with a furious blush. “Peter, I know you took my—…saw what’s in my drawer.” Peter goes still, and then awkwardly writes, **_socks?_** earning himself a sour glare.

“Don’t be an asshole about this, Peter,” Miggs says, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I know you found my panties, okay? I know you’ve got a pair of them. I know all about it.” Peter’s stomach tightens into lead, wondering how Miggs had figured out that he’d started regularly jerking it to the fantasy of Miggs in his lacy underthings, that he’s been using the ones he has to get off with, which are clearly private and not for friends to be coming all over. Peter grimaces and rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck before nodding, not knowing what else to say. Miggs stares at his knees, looking hurt and determined, eyes bright with something Peter’s devastated to think are tears. _Fuck,_ he’s royally screwed up this time, hasn’t he?

“Look, I understand you don’t… _get it,_ ” he says, making air quotes with his fingers around the last two words. His tone is mocking, like he’s quoting someone he hates. It’s the same tone he uses when he’s recounting something Richards said, and that gets Peter’s attention even more than Miggs already has it. “But seriously, you’re being such an _ass.”_ Peter stares as Miggs curls up even tighter on the couch, pushing his face into his knees. Peter wants to reach out and comfort him, but has a feeling it won’t be welcome.

“It’s not really any of your business, anyway, so being all grossed out over me wearing a thong sometimes is really shitty of you, I thought we were better friends than that,” Miggs says, and Peter stares, realizing that Miggs has _everything_ wrong. He holds up his hands, trying to stop him, but Miggs isn’t looking at him, still has his face buried in his knees. “And I can’t believe you’d _take_ a pair, what would you even do with them? Blackmail me?” He gives a bitter laugh that cracks a little with tears as Peter scratches out a quick note and then taps it against Miggs’ elbow to get his attention, making Miggs lifts his head. His nose is dark like it gets when he cries, and his eyes are shiny, and the twist of guilt and shame tightens in Peter’s gut.

**_Not grossed out._ **

“Well, you’re really acting like it!” Miggs says after he reads, scowling at him. “Look, you don’t have to lie, Peter, it’s fine. I mean, it’s _not,_ but…but it’s…I’m not gonna stop because _you_ don’t like it!” Peter groans and puts both hands over his face, wondering how he fucked up this badly. Ears burning, Peter quickly writes another note and shoves it at Miggs, staring at the paused TV in embarrassment.

**_It’s hot._ **

A long silence stretches until Peter’s forced to glance at Miggs, who is staring at the note like he can’t believe his eyes, legs sliding off the couch so his feet touch the floor. His tank top has ridden up a little, showing a stripe of his stomach and hip. His pajamas are pulled low from scooting around on the couch, and there’s lace peeking above them. Peter groans and puts his face in his hand, waving the notepad at Miggs in an effort to reinforce his previous statement.

“What do you mean?” Miggs whispers, looking between the note and Peter in confusion. “You’re—you’re not…disgusted? Not...keeping them to--to, I don’t know, use it against me when I’m being an asshole?” His voice is small and trembles a little, and Peter wants to punch whoever put that thought in Miggs’ head, because he knows the man didn’t come up with it on his own.

He scrawls another note and then shows it to Miggs before grabbing his wrist and putting his hand against Peter’s crotch.

**_Does it FEEL like I’m disgusted??_ **

Peter’s hard, achingly so, after just a little peek of Miggs’ panties. Miggs gasps at the feel of Peter’s cock throbbing under his palm, staring at him with wide eyes, and Peter suddenly realizes that he’s made _another_ mistake. Just because Miggs knows Peter isn’t turned off by his underwear doesn’t mean Miggs is _interested_ in Peter or his dick.

Peter quickly lets go of Miggs’ wrist and tries to scramble away, but Miggs just follows him, hand pressed to his crotch and staring at Peter with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Oh my God, you’re _hard,_ ” Miggs breathes, arching over Peter when he falls back onto the arm of the couch, climbing into Peter’s lap and staring at him like he can’t believe his eyes. His hand is still on Peter’s dick, which definitely isn’t helping his erection (depending on how you define _help,_ his libido counters), mouth parted in surprise still, the gap in his front teeth visible.

“You’re fucking _hard_ over me wearing _panties,_ ” Miggs says, and Peter swallows audibly, staring up at his friend as Miggs squeezes his cock, inciting an enthusiastic throb from the bit of his anatomy that is just not getting the message that being aroused right now is probably not a good idea. “So you running off all those times, and the _blushing_ …you were getting _off_ over me, oh my God. You--you took them to jerk off with?” Peter blushes and nods reluctantly, arching when Miggs squeezes his cock again, a grin appearing on his face.

“So you—” Miggs says, finally letting go of Peter’s cock to straighten up. Peter’s relief is short-lived, however, since Miggs immediately hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pajama bottoms and pushes them down to his knees. “You _like_ this?” Miggs whispers, watching him as Peter stares at his underwear.

They’re bright against his dark skin, cut like shorts and hugging his hips in a way that has Peter wanting to grab him. They’re all-lace, vaguely see-through, and cupping half an erection. Miggs looks _amazing_ in them, and Peter’s mouth starts watering just looking at him.

Helplessly, he drags his gaze up Miggs’ body to his face, nodding weakly.

“Oh,” Miggs says, sounding like he’s either about to cry or laugh. “N-no one’s…no one I showed them to before liked them.” Peter wonders what kind of douchebags Miggs has been dating, and then immediately forgets about it as Miggs leans down, trembling a little as he presses his forehead to Peter’s, looking wildly hopeful and a little scared.

“Um,” he says softly, chewing his bottom lip. “Please…touch me? God, _please_ touch me.”

Peter knows they should talk, lay down some ground rules, what they both want, what they both expect, how this is going to change their friendship—

“Peter,” Miggs whispers, the ‘r’ rolling just slightly as he turns his head to bury his face in Peter’s shoulder, granting him a view down Miggs’ back to his ass, which is tilted up and cupped by clinging lace. “I want you to touch me so bad, please, please, _please—_ ” He moans when Peter’s hands come up and grab his ass without Peter telling them to, and it's the most beautiful sound Peter’s ever heard. The lace is soft under Peter’s hands, each side of Miggs’ ass a perfect handful, and he can’t stop the weak groan that slips from him when he squeezes and lifts, Miggs whimpering into his throat as he pushes back into Peter’s grip.

Miggs squirms and kicks until he can get his pants off, sitting up briefly to yank his shirt over his head, and then he’s sitting in Peter’s lap in just a pair of panties. Peter’s suddenly so hard he’s going a little cross-eyed, holding onto Miggs’ ass like he’ll disappear if Peter doesn’t.

“Um, if—if you want…I’ve got…” Miggs stammers, blushing and squirming a little in Peter’s lap before rushing, “I’ve got condoms and lube in my bedroom. If you want.” Peter lets out a really, _really_ pathetic sound, something between a whimper and a groan, strangled and shaking as he struggles not to get so turned on he comes in his pants. He nods and Miggs flushes from the roots of his hair down, even his chest gaining a bit of warmth. His panties are bulging with a full erection, the head pushing out the waistband to peek above it and bead with precome.

Miggs gasps when Peter sits up and pushes him back onto the couch to kiss down his chest and stomach, tongue tracing over a few freckles before lapping at the head of his cock at the edge of his underwear. Miggs cries out and grabs Peter’s hair with one hand, breathing starting to race as he watches Peter lick at him.

“P-please, b-bedroom,” Miggs stammers, squirming as Peter whimpers and keeps dragging his tongue over the head of his cock, tasting heat and precome and _Miggs._ “Peter, _please,_ I want—God, I can’t even tell you how much I want you right now.” Peter groans and nods, scrambling off the couch to pull Miggs to his feet and drag him into his bedroom. Miggs gasps when Peter grabs him by the hips and throws him onto the bed, crawling up after him and growling.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Miggs says, staring at him and breathing hard. “I, uh, if it’s okay, later, like next time I mean, you should _totally_ pick me up and—” Peter nods and then leans down to start kissing him, shuddering at the wet warmth of Miggs’ mouth under his, tongue sliding between his lips and making them both moan. Peter will do whatever the fuck Miggs wants next time, simply because there’s going to _be_ a next time.

Miggs starts undoing the buttons on Peter’s shirt, and he struggles to pull it off without breaking the kiss but somehow manages. Miggs lets out a tiny whimper that shoots right to Peter’s cock as he starts petting at Peter’s chest and arms, fingers trembling a little.

“Oh fuck, oh God,” Miggs pants, staring as Peter slides off the bed to kick out of his pants and boxers, quickly returning to the bed. He skims his hands up Miggs’ thighs, fingers teasing at the edge of his panties, slipping under them to trace along the sensitive skin where Miggs’ legs meet his hips. He moans and arches into the touch, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck to pull him down into a kiss.

“I want you to fuck me, please, _please_ fuck me, I’ve been thinking about it for ages, please—” Miggs whispers against Peter’s mouth, rolling his hips up into Peter’s touch. Peter moans, wondering if Miggs has been touching himself while thinking of Peter, if he’s gotten off on imagining them together like this.

Peter pulls away to stare at Miggs sprawled under him, a funny feeling uncurling in his chest at the uncertain look on Miggs’ face.

“Um…you’re not…gonna change your mind, are you?” he breathes, an old fear in his eyes. Peter shakes his head, leaning down and pressing kisses to Miggs’ face, wishing he could convey what he was thinking to the man. He signs it even though he knows Miggs won’t understand, sitting up to rake his gaze along Miggs’ form.

 _You’re beautiful,_ Peter says, giving Miggs a crooked little smile when he blinks at him in confusion. _The most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. I never want to stop touching you. You are the most important person to me in the world._ Miggs blushes, even though he can’t understand, Peter knows a bit of the sentiment must show on his face from the slightly shiny look Miggs’ eyes are getting again.

“I…I don’t want you to leave because I say something stupid in response to whatever that was,” Miggs mumbles, and Peter blinks at him before shaking his head and leaning forward to kiss him some more. There are very few things that Miggs can say that would make Peter leave.

Miggs wraps his arms around Peter’s neck, kissing him back and shaking a little when Peter pets at his sides and cups his hips, rolling their hips together and shuddering at the feel of Miggs’ lace-sheathed cock rubbing against his own.

Miggs pulls back and stares at him, flushed and soft and _perfect._

“I love you,” he whispers, cheeks dark and expression a little afraid as Peter goes still. “I’m in love with you, Peter.”

He doesn’t know what to say.

People have told Peter they love him before. He hasn’t believed it since before his parents died. Love is supposed to be infinite, but there’s always a limit. One of the big ones seems to be Peter not loving them back.

The words always spark a panic in Peter when someone he’s sleeping with says them, demands them in return.

But Miggs is looking up at him with soft eyes and his mouth slightly parted, and there is no expectancy in his expression. And it loosens a knot in Peter’s chest he didn’t even know was there.

He leans down and kisses Miggs as tenderly as he knows how, because if there is one person in this world he is ever going to love, it’s this man.

Miggs moans and arches underneath him, hips lifting to rub eagerly against Peter as he says, “Peter, please. Please fuck me?” Peter nods, glancing towards Miggs’ nightstands and wondering which has the lube and condoms in it. He guesses for the one nearest the door, and turns out he’s right. Miggs scrambles onto his hands and knees while Peter fetches the bottle and wrapped condom, reaching back to start pushing his underwear down. Peter stops him as his gets far enough down that Peter can slip his fingers along his crack to his hole, and Miggs whimpers loudly. Peter lets out a concerned sound and Miggs just moans and pushes back against his touch until Peter pushes a lubed finger into him. He’s tight, and very hot, and Peter has to grab his cock to keep from coming just at the mere thought of being inside him.

“P- _please,_ ” Miggs stutters, and Peter nods, quickly starting to open him up and knowing that they're both far too aroused to last long enough for teasing.

Miggs begs for another before long and Peter gives it to him gladly, groaning at the eager give of Miggs’ body.

 _I can’t wait to fuck you._ Peter traces the words over Miggs’ back with a finger of his free hand, scissoring the digits of his other to stretch him faster, not wanting to hurt him. Miggs moans with every push and pull of Peter’s wrist, cock hanging heavy and full between his legs, lace stretched around his thighs. He moves up to three fingers and Miggs pushes back against them eagerly, making Peter whimper.

“Please, I’m ready, please, please,” Miggs whines, squirming a little until Peter pulls his fingers free and fumbles with the condom until he gets it open and on over his dick. “Petteerrrrrrrrr,” Miggs groans, wiggling his hips enticingly. “ _Please._ ” Peter moans and kneels behind Miggs, petting at his back and sides before pushing his cock against his entrance. Miggs gasps as Peter presses into him, crying out when the head slips into his body with a bit of a push.

“Oh God,” Miggs pants, trembling, and for a minute Peter worries he hurt him. Then Miggs pushes his hips back, taking Peter all the way to the base in one go. Peter lets out a strangled sound and grabs Miggs’ hips, gritting his teeth. He wants this to last longer than thirty seconds, thank you very much, and Miggs around his cock feels better than he imagined, so it’s not easy.

“Please, please, Peter, _please_ ,” Miggs cries, rocking his hips as much as Peter will let him, the lace around his legs rubbing against Peter’s skin. He moans and does his best to hold his orgasm back as he starts pumping his hips, starting slow and steady. Miggs moans every time Peter thrusts deeply, so he makes sure to keep that up as he starts to increase his speed and force.

“Oh, fuck, harder!” Miggs gasps when Peter snaps his hips forward, reaching out to hesitantly thread his fingers through Miggs’ hair. Miggs lets out a sound of pleasure when he pulls, so Peter tightens his grip on Miggs’ hair and thrusts eagerly into him.

“Yes! Fuck, God, yes, Peter, oh, God!” Miggs reaches down between his legs to start stroking his cock and then he’s coming, body tightening around Peter sporadically and making him scramble not to come. It’s no use, and Miggs pulls him over the edge. He cries out, yanking on Miggs’ hair until he arches up and against Peter, forcing him to turn his head so Peter can kiss him. Miggs moans into his mouth as Peter spills inside him, grinding his hips against Miggs’ ass.

“Fuck,” Miggs pants as Peter lets him go, collapsing forward against the mattress and letting out a grunt of disgust when he lands in his own spunk. Peter carefully pulls free of him, pulling off the condom and tying it shut before tossing it aside to deal with later. Future Peter can deal with the condom, Present Peter wants to admire Miggs some more.

Miggs hums in surprise when Peter tugs and pokes at him until he rolls over, using an edge of the blanket to wipe him clean before tugging his panties back up around his hips. Miggs gives him a soft smile at that, almost shy.

“You really like that,” he mumbles, almost like he can’t believe it. Peter nods, sighing as he lays down next to Miggs to wrap an arm around him and hold him close. Miggs lets out a distinctly happy grumbling sort of noise, twisting in Peter’s grip to throw an arm and a leg over him, nuzzling into his hair.

“I love you,” he mumbles, and Peter squeezes him tight, heart pounding in his chest, not with panic, but with something else. Affection, certainly. Strong, boundless affection that he _wants_ to call love but fears doing so for risk of failing to deliver.

Miggs doesn’t seem to mind, though, sighing happily as they cuddle, lace panties rubbing against Peter’s naked hip.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that they went missing?” Miggs mumbles after a second, and Peter pauses before huffing a laugh. “I want them back, by the way.” Peter laughs a little harder and nods, turning his head to kiss Miggs’ temple and earning a pleased noise.

Peter runs a hand down over Miggs’ hip, fingers tracing the soft, silky edges of the fabric and smiling to himself.


End file.
